Chapter 11: Change
Inside the NQSC police station, in the sterile white of the showers, a boy stood under a stream of perfectly warm water.
It rained down on his skin, but he felt no warmth, no solace and no comfort in it's touch. The heat was like a distant signal unable to penetrate the cold numbness that had taken root in his core.
The memories of his First Nightmare were a festering wound in his mind crawling behind his eyes and seizing his thoughts when his guard was down. They relentlessly replayed the sensation of alien metal piercing his very being, the clinical gaze of his captors, and the world-ending terror of Vilgax and lastly, the soul wretching pain of bonding with the Omnitrix, a divine relic as a mere aspirant.
He had once thought with the foolish certainty of a child, that he could stomach any pain the spell throws at him. He had believed that nothing could ever hurt more than watching the light leave his mother's eyes while being soaked with her blood.
He had thought many things before the first Nightmare. Some of those convictions remained, hardened like steel. Others had been shattered and fundamentally changed. But from the rubble of his old self, one conclusion emerged, clear and unyielding:
He needed to change.
His current mindset was a liability and above all else it was deeply flawed.
It wasn't that his will was weak or his goal—the purging fire of his hatred—was incorrect, no instead The problem was that he was simply soft due to his upbringing.
After all He was no Legacy, who are forged in a clan's crucible of discipline and combat from the moment he could walk.
The only training he ever received was of his public school which was a pale shadow and a sanitized version of the real thing.
Yet, he was also not a rat from the outskirts, hardened by a life of brutal scarcity, whose will to survive was a weapon in itself capable cutting the world if needs arise.
He was somewhere in between inheriting both the weakness from each world with none of the strengts and that had left him unprepared for the cruelty of the spell.
And above anything else, That had to change.
He needed to get accustomed to pain, to wear it like a second skin.
He needed to lock his frustration and grief in a deep, dark box within himself burying it until he was powerful enough to wield it without being consumed by it.
Most of all, he needed to sharpen his hatred into a fine, precise Blade capable of cutting all who stands in his way. The Spell's appraisal had declared that his hatred knew no bounds but the raw chaotic emotion was simply not enough. It was never enough. he just hadn't realized it before.
–––
Hugo turned off the water with a decisive click. Strangely enough, The sudden silence was louder than the spray had been.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to the sink, his movements strangely deliberate. Then, he saw his reflection in the misted mirror and froze.
The boy who had entered the Nightmare was gone. The changes brought on by his ascension were profound and deeply unsettling, at least for Hugo.
His once-brown hair was now a deep, jet black, and it had grown longer, falling in damp strands over his forehead. His eyes, previously a common shade of brown, were now a deep, piercing blue—a shade so intense it seemed to hold a light of its own, deeper and colder than even Master Jet's famed gaze.
'Fitting,' he thought . 'My entire existence is now defined by alien blueprints. Why shouldn't my shell reflect that?'
While he wasn't classically handsome, there was a sharp, striking quality to his features now. The softness of youth had been carved away replaced by a grim purpose that tightened the line of his jaw and hardened his expression. He was… pleased. This new face matched the changed person inside.
And then there was his Aspect. The Divine Relic he had bonded with, the Omnitrix, had undergone its own metamorphosis.
It was no longer the simple watch-like device it was in the Nightmare. Now, it was a part of him – quite literally –.
The Omnitrix rested snugly against his left wrist, a marvel of sleek, angular design. Its frame was a combination of polished black and metallic alloy that seemed to drink the light, gleaming with a subtle, internal energy. The edges flowed seamlessly into his skin, as if it had been grown rather than worn making it an organic extension of his own body.
The centerpiece was a circular core, smooth and flawless, from which a cerulean hourglass symbol pulsed with a slow, rhythmic light. The blue glow was cool and constant, humming with a latent power that vibrated faintly up his arm. Interlocking segments of dark metal wrapped his wrist and forearm with mechanical elegance, their sharp lines hinting at unimaginable potential locked within the first divine relic made by mortels hands. Subtle veins of the same blue light traced outwards from the core, threading through the armor-like material until it was impossible to tell where his flesh ended and the divine artifact began. It was almost alive, ancient, and terrifyingly beautiful.
"Great," he muttered to his reflection, a dry note in his voice. "Now I can't even hide it."
Though he would never admit it aloud, a part of him, the part that was still a boy fascinated by stories and shiney objects, thought it was incredibly cool.
It was then that Curiosity, a dangerous and compelling force tugged at him.
Without any effort to resist it, He raised his left arm and brought his right hand near the dial, spinning it's slightly. Instantly, it responded. The dial popped up without a sound, the blue hourglass symbol brightening. Then, the symbol shifted, resolving into the silhouette of a large, towering figure with distinct, powerful tentacles—the form of a Chimera Sui Generis, Vilgax's species. It was rendered in stark black, devoid of color but full of a sinister aura.
He turned the dial again causing The image to shifted. the colossal form replaced by a comically small, slender figure—a Galvan. The contrast was jarring.
He turned the dial once more, but it simply cycled back to the Chimera.
The results were quite obvious as He only possessed two Imprints as of this moment.
The instinctual knowledge implanted by the Spell was clear: pressing the dial down would activate the transformation.
The pull was almost magnetic, a siren's call to feel that alien power coursing through him, to know what it felt like to be so strong.... To be something else.
His finger hovered over the dial causing his heart to beat a little faster.
'Should I…?'
Tempted by the idea, Hugo almost pressed the dial But then he remembered his Flaw, the Spell's cruel counterbalance.
[Unstable Ego]. The risk was too great, at least not in a place like this, he did not know what changes his transformation would bring, and he did not want to risk doing something drastic in a building filled with mundune people even if an ascended was present at the moment.
So With a sigh of disappointment, he pulled his hand away. The dial retracted silently, the Omnitrix returning to its dormant state. The moment of temptation eventually passed, sealed away by caution.
–––
Later, dressed in a clean police-issued tracksuit that fit his newly altered frame a little too well, Hugo found himself in the station's cafeteria. Master Jet was waiting for him at a solitary table, two trays of steaming synthetic food placed between them.
"Help yourself," she said, her voice its usual low, steady cadence.
Hugo didn't need to be told twice. He attacked the meal with a ravenous intensity that bordered on violence, shoveling the bland nutrients into his mouth. It was a stark contrast to the single, sweet green stick that had been his only sustenance in the Nightmare. This was real and tangible even if it was mostly synthetic. So he devoured it like a starved animal.
When he was done, he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. He looked up to find Jet studying him, her expression unreadable but her gaze intensely serious.
"Are you finished with your food?" she asked, though it was clearly a rhetorical question.
Hugo simply nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Then I'll begin. As per protocol, I am obligated to inform you of a few things. It is mostly a formality. First of all, concerning your Nightmare…"
She glanced at him, and for a fleeting moment, he saw something that might have been pity in her eyes but it it was quickly gone as fast as it appeared, replaced by professional detachment.
Then she continued "You are entitled to receive free psychological counseling. No matter what traumatic experience you have encountered, there is no shame in asking for help. Your mind is as important as your body—it's only right to keep it healthy. Are you interested?"
Hugo looked at her with a hesitant expression unsure of what to say. For a moment he was tempted to say yes, To talk to someone, to maybe share even a fraction of the burden nestled deep within his mind… but eventually, something in him refused.
The Winter Solstice was approaching. Time spent in therapy was time not spent getting stronger, instead It was a luxury that could get him killed.
"No," he said, his voice firmer than he expected. "I don't think I want to."
Jet gave a single, curt nod. "As you wish. You can also talk to me. Was it very hard?"
Hugo held her gaze. How could he possibly explain? The advanced alien city, the sadistic experiments, getting haunted by murder drone and terrifying alien assassins, bonding with a cosmic relic all while witnessing the collapse of an entire civilization ?
The words stuck in his throat, failing to capture the sheer scale of the hell he had endured.
"...It was hell," he finally said. The words were inadequate, but they were the only ones that felt true.
Jet didn't flinch. "I understand. Many Awakened find their First Nightmare to be the worst moment of their lives. But you need to make sure it doesn't hold you back."
Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact, yet the weight of her own experience gave the words a heavy truth. "I'm sorry to say this... but the Dream Realm will be much worse."
Hugo understood that she wasn't being cruel, just brutally honest. Yet, the words settled in his stomach like a block of ice.
"Yes," he replied, the word feeling hollow. "I understand." But in truth, he didn't understand. He couldn't even being to fathom a more terrifying experience then the first nightmare and that terrified him to the core of his being.
Jet shrugged, moving on to the next piece of business. "Lastly, there's the matter of your family…"
Hugo stiffened. In the whirlwind of his awakening, he had completely forgotten about the drunken mess waiting for him at home.
His father.
"We tried contacting your father, but we couldn't reach him. So, maybe I can't take you to–"
"No."
Hugo cut her off, his voice sharp enough to make her blink in surprise. The shift in his demeanor was instantaneous and violent. The neutral mask he wore cracked, revealing a glimpse of the seething emotion beneath.
Jet recovered quickly, her professional mask back in place. "I understand this might difficult for you but it's not a matter of what you want. He's your legal guardian and so We need his permission to even register you at the Academy. You'll have to at least meet him."
Hugo's frown deepened into a scowl. A familiar, venomous hatred bloomed in his chest at the thought of his father. The man was a ghost, a hollowed-out shell who had never once looked him in the eye after his mother's death. There had been no comfort, no shared grief, only the stench of alcohol and the sound of strangers in the night.
And Deep down, Hugo knew the man blamed him.
If Hugo hadn't begged her to go to the park that day, she would still be alive and with them.
And to an extent, Hugo blamed himself too. But his hatred for his father was a cleaner, sharper thing. There were few things in this world he hated with such pure, unadulterated passion and his father was at the top of that short list.
Now, bestowed with more power than any mundane human could comprehend, he didn't trust himself to be in the same room with the man.
He didn't know what he would do.
Eventually, he managed to unclench his jaw enough to speak. "Aren't all Nightmare Spell carriers entitled to attend the Awakened Academy?"
Jet shook her head. "Yes, they are entitled. But a legal guardian's permission is still required. The only exceptions are for orphans, or those from the outskirts who have no registered guardian."
Hugo felt the walls closing in. There was no way out, just like his first nightmare , he was cornered like a rat...
He took a slow, measured breath, forcing the storm inside him to still for a moment.
"...Alright," he conceded, the words tasting like ash. "I'll go."